


sofa king

by versigny



Category: Day6 (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Angst with a Happy Ending, Couch Sex, F/M, Fingerfucking, Homework, Inappropriate Humor, Resolved Sexual Tension, Semi-Public Sex, Tumblr Prompt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-10
Updated: 2017-07-16
Packaged: 2018-11-30 07:23:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,466
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11458800
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/versigny/pseuds/versigny
Summary: Anonymous asked: Couch?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

>  
> 
>   
> 

Jae straddling you on the couch was something that had never once crossed your mind in all the idle hours spent texting about this stupid biology class. Every passing complaint about the grading, the rubric, the lack of available sources – sure you’d pictured the glorious victory shouts, celebrations as you hit submit on Blackboard, endless exchanges of memes and friendly ribbing until the next assignment rolled around. And yeah, things had been normal for a minute or two. Maybe even three.

The boy that had been arguably cute in class and downright hilarious over the phone was no match for one-on-one, in person, in your tiny apartment.

Jae smelled like a fresh shower, mint toothpaste and shampoo and handsomeness, if handsomeness was even a fragrance. Eau de Fuckboy, debatably, except he didn’t have any kind of reputation like that when he was so lanky and nerdy in a hot way. Those thoughts had crowded your mind for a solid .05 seconds when he walked in, your bright smile faltering in a tangled rush of  _oh no oh no oh no_  and Jae himself forgetting to breathe right for a moment as well. All the texting, the late night Snaps, the quick phone calls – all of them flooded the room with the palpable reality that it had all been pure, devastating foreplay leading up to this moment.

“Wanna set up in the living room?” you asked, voice cracking just a tiny bit as you whipped away in a hurry to get away from him before you did or said something foolish.

“Sure thing,” he mumbles, and to your throbbing heart and utter dismay, he follows promptly and closely. Not too close. But close enough.

Jae sets up his laptop. You grab your bottle of tea and get him water. You sit on opposite ends of the couch. You turn on Spotify on your PS4, and turn to him. His mouth moves – he says something about some trip to the library, some article he found in the database – and you give some kind of response, probably – and then everything goes from hazy to crystal clear in a startling instant when his eyes turn hooded behind his oversized glasses.

Scrunching his nose faintly, his lips start to form what might be a hushed ‘ _ffffuck_ ’, but he bites down instead, shakes his head, and closes the gap between you.

Jae kisses like nothing you’ve ever tasted before; his skin is cool from the drink, but his tongue is hot and tantalizing, and his hands are well-practiced from his instrument. The way his fingers dig into your arms, dragging up your shoulders to muss your hair and pull you closer leave you breathless and keening against him. It takes no time for you to sink back against the cushions with him on top of you, and when both of you finally break away for oxygen you know you must look embarrassing and the way he half-laughs, half-cries and sighs the word ‘ _shit_ ’ at your expression says it all.

One hand smooths your jaw, your hair, and a stray thumb rolls against your swollen bottom lip. Instinct and stupidity drive you to part your lips in invitation, and you quite literally feel his arousal against you as he presses it in and shuts his eyes in almost painful bliss.

“God,” he murmurs, and you fidget in agreement as he unconsciously grinds into your hips. Your legs are trapped, unable to wrap around him and yank him down for more as you suck with shy obscenity on the digit in your mouth, lapping minute kitten licks with your tongue and leaving him trembling violently. A hoarse whine of his name rumbles in your throat, not quite sounding out properly but he catches it never the less and presses the pad of his thumb onto your tongue and forces you to drool a little. It’s just another teaspoon of embarrassment lacing in your blood straight to your core, and you press closer to him out of shame and suffocated desire.

Jae is content with this situation, though; he’s more than happy to spend all the time in the world caging you in against your cushions with you suckling on his thumb and pretending it’s his cock while he rolls his actual hardened length against your clothed heat. Something in your expression has him tight inside, bubbling with molten lust and want and a craving to see how far he can pry you apart, see what lewdness you have to offer him. If he were being honest with himself, porn had not and could not ever come close to this, and you had probably ruined him for life just from this alone.

Oh well. If he was going to hell, he might as well do it properly.

His thumb rubbed sordid circles against your tongue, making you salivate even more and groan in protest as you felt it build up and then drip down your cheek – you twisted underneath him, torn between just letting it happen and trying to stop it, but were silenced by your own arousal when you heard his breathy chuckle followed by a soft and taunting, “Messy, messy, messy.”

And then he leaned down, and you felt the tip of his nose trace your cheekbone as the tip of his tongue licked up the mess.

You might have screamed. You couldn’t remember. It was all so mortifying, all so much – you’d slept with a solid handful of people, but had never done anything so intimate and scandalous as this, and sure you had already made out a little bit but this was  _different_ and–

“If it’s cool with you, um,” Jae’s voice is low and raspy, so unlike the casual snicker he normally held on the phone, “can I undress you, like, a lil bit? Whatever you’re chill with.”

But he kept his thumb in your mouth. You’d be a tomato by now if this was a cartoon, bright red from your neck to your ears, and the look you give him is so pitiful as you can’t answer that he full-on  _laughs_  at just how pathetic and sexy it is anyway.

“Should I let you talk?” he teases, and you frown as best as you can, pouting at the indignance of it all and trying to fight the growing hot wetness at your center. “Is that a yes, missy? Sorry, can’t tell. But you should know you shouldn’t talk with your mouth full.”

Jae was certainly asking for it when you glare and bite down pointedly on his knuckle, earning a hiss and an unkind grin from his end as he withdraws.

“Anything you w-want,” you splutter out, licking at your lips in futility. Jae’s fingers, still slippery, grasp your chin firmly and he leans in for another lascivious kiss.

“Nice,” he whispers, and just like that, his fingers are prying delicately at your shirt. Despite the sticky warmth in the air and the way you catch his chest heaving with the effort of his breathing, he’s calculated and careful in how he hikes up the material just over your bra, exposing the dense applique of the garment.

“Very pretty,” he takes the time to compliment before pulling the cups down, too, and releasing your breasts from the confines. Your nipples are already hardened as he scoops the soft flesh into his hands, palms squeezing in and making you squeak and twitch up into his touch. There’s something devastating about the way he laughs lightly at your every reaction, mocking you and sending you deeper into your haze of pleasure every single time. Jae has endless patience as he massages your breasts, though; you sink into the sensation of no hurried or awkward groping, just the steady, intense way his hands work against you and his fingers occasionally reach down to pinch your aching nipples and tug at them. You almost wonder why he won’t use his mouth, but when you peek open an eye and catch him staring openly at you, memorizing your every fleeting expression and fixating on the way your eyes screw shut and your teeth catch your swollen lip, you just grumble and whimper and try to hide your face in a pillow.

“Hey, quit that,” he complains instantaneously, one hand leaving to cup your chin and pull you back to face him properly. “You put on a good show.”

“Y-you’re making meeee… self-c-conscious!” you protest, and it’s all silenced by his tongue entering your cavern and rolling sinfully against yours, swallowing up any further excuse.

“Th-this might be, uh, a stupid question, but.” Jae breaks away for a moment, panting as he tries to catch his breath and it gives you time to appreciate just how flushed and splotchy his neck is, how blown his pretty pupils are in his irises. “I have a condom, and you… you are… so… just… I, what I’m trying to ask–”

“I think if you don’t f-fuck me I’ll start crying,” you admit weakly, and you’re not exaggerating in the least. Jae’s face melts into sympathy and amusement and dark, smoldering want that goes straight to your nerves and lights them up like electricity as his fingertips trace your bare skin down to your jeans.

“Cool. Same.”

It takes the longest thirty seconds of your life to get your pants off, and an even longer twenty seconds to yank his out of the way enough to let his erection spring from his briefs. Your mouth waters all at once, and then everything goes heavy and still as his fingers hook into the band of your underwear and pry them down.

The wetness is evident without any effort; you can visibly see Jae tense, a tendon flexing in his jaw as his whole body shudders from a shiver running down his spine at the sight of your slit. Mesmerized, he almost looks like he’s forgotten where he is or what he’s doing as his head tilts in rapt curiousity, subconsciously licking his lips as he lets a single index finger run down it from your clit to your ass in one agonizing, slippery motion.

“O-oh  _fuck_ ,” you gasp, “J-Jae–!”

He blinks suddenly, coming back to his senses before desire overtakes him entirely. You almost jump out of your skin at the abrupt sensation of his tongue flat and warm, licking across your clit insistently and only once.

“Tasty, tastyyyy,” he singsongs against your thigh, exactly from Fergalicious but you’re too desperate to kick his teeth in for it, and he’s too quick to let you anyway; lithely, he scrambles up to his knees and after unwrapping and donning a condom in record time, slides a lean arm under your head, cradling your face to the safe place between his neck and shoulder as his free hand guides his tip to your folds.

The juice built up at the entrance smeared across his head on contact, lubricating it effortlessly. Your body was already clenching at the feel of him, resting right there, only needing the smallest push to start filling you out and stretching you open for him. You wanted to wiggle but clung to any scrap of self control.

Jae was biting back a moan and the last shreds of his composure, trying not to just give in to temptation and fuck you like an animal – but boy, was it hard when you were right  _there_ , sounding like  _that_  and looking like  _that_  all underneath him like the finest thing he’d ever received in his life. He grits his teeth as the first inch presses in, blistering heat and tightness and almost no friction at all, and is gasping for air when you half-sigh, half-beg his name for more.

But if you were asking…

Jae stutters over your name like an idiot and sinks the rest of his length in in a long, slow stroke. All at once he’s inside of you, surrounded by the most heavenly, intoxicating, addicting sensations he’s ever felt, and he can barely hear himself  _think_ let alone verbalize. 

“Holy,” he rasps, “fucking,” he swallows thickly, dryly, “ _shit_.”

“Fuck me?” you croak back, trembling from the effort of not falling to piece under him.

“Yeah,” he breathes out, and he tilts back and plunges into you again.

Your senses all shut down and restart, swirling together in nothing but the man fucking you into delirium. All bets are off. Your moaning is too noisy and indecent for you to care, and Jae is rapidly losing any incentive to try and make this last when you’re writhing beneath him like that.

He almost dies when he sees your shaky hand disappear where your hips meet, and with a shift of your wrist he feels you somehow get hotter, wetter, squeezing him as you touch yourself.

The noise that escapes him is high-pitched and utterly feral.

“Keep doing that,” he all but growls and cranes in to nip a trail up your neck possessively. 

You have every reason to comply.

Jae is polite enough to keep drilling into you with renewed vigor. If he gets any deeper, you think you might implode. The combination of your uneven circles on your swollen clit and relentless pounding from his cock and sheer amount of  _want_  you had for him, a craving for all of Jae in every capacity, had you teetering at the edge far, far too quickly for your own humility.

“U-uhmmm,” you mewl, “J-Jae, I-I’m, mmhhm _mnn_ , m-might, gonna, s-ssoon–?”

“Shit,  _yes_ , please, whenever baby,” he brokenly croons back, voice tight. His tempo is getting sloppier by the second, driving a tiny bit further each time and pressing dangerously into the sinful-sweet spot that has you seeing stars.

Nothing else that comes out of you is coherent; it’s a mangled mess of pleas and swears and his name all in one. You sound shameful at best, and it’s only for one split second of lucidity that you manage to grit out something that you’re sure to wash your own mouth out with soap later–

“I s-sureee  _wihh_ … w-wish we didn’t n-need that c-condo _mmmngh_ …”

Jae almost chokes and he feels the air leave his lungs in a  _whoosh_  as he realizes he’s totally going to cum in the next three seconds.

“Same,” he gasps, managing a crooked smile just before the pleasure overtakes him.

Your eyes go wide at the sight; Jae’s face contorts into pink and a damp sheen of exertion and then all goes melted and sensual at once as you feel his cock turn hard as steel and then  _throb_ , over and over, the force of his ejaculation enough to feel with it. Nothing prepares you to be pulled over the edge with him, your pussy descending from tightness to wave after wave of milking him for all he’s worth. Jae tries to fuck you through the orgasm, but both of you are hardly able to do more than cry each others’ names and cling for dear life. Jae holds you airtight to him, fingernails biting into your shirt and back as his soft, merciless whimpers torment your ears wickedly.

“ _Fuck_ ,” he hisses, stilling inside of you. “Fuck, fuck,  _fuck_ …”

“ _Jae_ ,” you groan back, octaves too high, clinging to him with jumping muscles.

Long, gauzy minutes tick by as he collapses onto you, trying to catch his breath and not smother you at the same time. You’re too dizzy, too spent to register anything right just yet, but are dimly aware of his effort to gingerly lay you beside him in his arms and instead of crushing you under his weight. Slowly, your lungs return to normal, and your head stops spinning in warm, delightful circles. Your senses all remain hooked on Jae, though, and for that you are absolutely grateful – you didn’t think you could process anything but him just yet.

It’s another minute of drowsy silence before he tries to speak.

“I should get you cleaned up,” he mumbles sleepily, but he doesn’t move a muscle to get up. In fact, his nose brushes against the sensitive place below your ear and he absently lets his mouth rest against your pulse lower, murmuring, “Smell good.”

“ _God_ ,” you hiccup. Your heart had just almost settled but he was a tyrant, already sending you back into the throes of lovesick and flustered.

“You think so? Me too.”

You muster up only enough vigor to swat him bonelessly against the arm, and Jae just laughs and laughs and laughs.

 

Six hours and four orgasms later, you manage to start your project – and something gives you the feeling it’s going to be a  _very_ late night.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (EYES EMOJI)
> 
> this is dedicated to @[sorchapan](http://sorchapan.tumblr.com/) on tumblr because she is the literal sofa king best. please go drool over her art.

One would think that after fucking on a couch with no planning or prior thought ( _well_ , your brain argues,  _there was about ten seconds of prior thought involved_ ) that there would be little to no boundaries between the two parties at hand. You and Park Jaehyung knew each other in the most physically intimate way possible in the sanctity of your own home, on your own couch.

Naturally it made all the sense in the world that you had been avoiding his texts and calls for approximately a week.

> **[1:06] chicken little (jae):** have i EVER told you that i wish you were in ALL of my classes so i could stare at you ALL the fucking time?  
>  **[1:15] chicken little (jae):**  i regret your psychology track. come join me in the special hell called chemistry.  
>  **[1:34] chicken little (jae):** i’m only taking this because i signed up late and it was the only class that wasn’t full. did i ever tell you that? holup, i got a good one: fuck a chem student, they like to do it on the table periodically  
>  **[1:35] chicken little (jae):** tears in my etyes rn  
>  **[1:45] chicken little (jae):** AAAAAGGGHHH I MISS yOU.

You read the messages a hundred, two hundred times. You read them with your eyes burning and your breaths short, heart throttling your lungs and constricting on itself and shaky hands. You could picture him perfectly in his stupid flannels and too-large glasses fidgeting in his chair, slumping as he texted you forlornly under his desk.

And you couldn’t text him back. You just couldn’t. All the words built up in your throat and you choked on them – you didn’t know  _what_  to say when all you wanted to do was repeat that day over and over with him and never let him leave if he didn’t have to go.

The next message was after dinner.

> **[8:09] chicken little (jae):** GIRL WHERE IS YOUR PHONE? HOW ARE WE SUPPOSED TO TALK THIS WAY  
>  **[8:09] chicken little (jae):**  I WANT A DIALOGUE, NOT A MONOLOGUE.  
>  **[8:10] chicken little (jae):**  dont ever get the school corndogs for real, theyll make you want to check out of life early.

And then later, you guessed as he was going to bed.

> **[1:22] chicken little (jae):**  i hope you’re ok booboo :(  
>  **[1:22] chicken little (jae):** hmu tomorrow. when you find ya phone. miss u. goodnight

You woke up to no more missed messages, and you laid in bed, clutching your phone as tears bubbled up miserably in your eyes and you stared at your screen helplessly. You wanted to chalk it up to PMSing, but knew it was far, far more than that – you had it  _bad_ for him. Real bad. Scary bad. You hadn’t been awake for more than five minutes and already your chest felt too tight and you were sobbing into your pillow, brain dizzy from the flood of memories of your accidental tryst. It was too much and too fast. Jae was talking to you so sweetly, but you didn’t know what it meant; was it just a fling? Had he really just fucked you because it was the heat of the moment? You didn’t think you had it in you to ask, too afraid of what the answer might be. Maybe this was all totally normal for him.

But you’d never know, because you couldn’t ask. You couldn’t even say hello.

After class that morning, you had a missed call from him, and then a few more texts.

> **[10:59] chicken little (jae):**  hey let me know if you’re alive hon. i’m worryin

And again.

> **[1:11] chicken little (jae):**  pleaaaaaaaaaaaaase lmk what’s up

And again, the next day.

> **[3:15] chicken little (jae):** did i do smth? if i did you can tell me i’m not mad…. forreal dowoon said he saw you earlier but ? idk what i’m doing

And the day after.

> **[8:21] chicken little (jae):** i promise i’m not trying to be a fucking freak right now but i just wanted to say sorry, for anything that i did, or if i made you uncomfortable, because that is literally the last thing i was trying to do and i’m sorry if i got ahead of myself (which I sure love doing ) and you have been nothing but perfect and i mean that so much and i’m sorry. i’m so sorry. if i crossed a line it was unintentional. i want you to be happy.

That night, you cried until you thought you’d run out of tears and shrivel up and die.

–

There were a few stray calls, a few messages on Snapchat. You were careful not to leave your room much, and to keep your hood up when you went to class as to avoid any of your mutual friends approaching you and potentially questioning you on his behalf.

Did you know what you were doing was ridiculous? Of course! A hundred thousand fucking percent so. But nothing could quell the pulsating fear that resided in your very marrow like poison and applesauce, sticky-sweet and sapping the life out of you. You were the proverbial deer in the headlights, with a car that moved infinitely closer to you but never quite reaching. After all, this could go on forever, couldn’t it?

Probably not.

The pinnacle of it all was skipping Biology. You checked Blackboard to see you both had managed to scrounge a very acceptable 92/100 with some notes on poor wording in the end – you chalked that up to being Jae’s fault, since he wrote the conclusion.

In the end, it was that same shaken sadness that led to your downfall – your friend texted you half past six, asking if you wanted to come to her sorority for dinner and movies. It wasn’t a totally public event, just a dumb pajama party for funsies, and you wanted nothing more in that moment than to get out of your house and forget everything that existed for a few hours.

In turn, you forgot to ask a very important question:  _who’s invited?_

You showed up a quarter to eight in soft pajama pants and the same oversized hoodie that had taken such good care of you this week. You were a gentle mess, holding your blanket and cell phone as you bumped the front door with your head since your hands were full, and a girl you sort of knew answered, cheerfully inviting you in.

The lights in the kitchen were on for snack making, but off everywhere else. All the furniture had been arranged in a daisychain of armchairs and sofas for comfort and lined with ample pillows, all in front of coffee tables loaded with popcorn and snacks and drinks. At the altar of the party was the massive flat screen television surrounded by DVDs, and previews for whatever was put in were currently showing.

“I thiiiiink there’s room over there,” the sorority girl pointed at some couch tucked into the shadows where the TV light couldn’t reach. The ambient chatter and laughter from the people already curled up and ready reached you, and your ears pricked up at the sound of distinctly male voices permeating the noise – it didn’t worry you, or anything. Just surprised you. You thought it was supposed to be a girl’s night was all, and if anything it just made you a  _tiny_ bit self-conscious that you hadn’t worn a bra.

Treading shyly over to the couches, you finally caught the attention of your friend – “_____! There you are! Sit, sit!” – and saw over a dozen heads turn to glance in your direction. A few people were kind enough to say hi or wave before going back to their conversations, and as one preview faded to black, darkening the room for a few soft seconds before the next one came on, your eyes settled on the empty spot at the end of a couch against the wall.

Your feet started moving towards your assigned seat instinctively, until the next preview dimly lit up the room and you saw the sleepy-eyed, stunned face of Park Jaehyung staring up at you from the spot directly beside it.

For a long minute, though it was certainly only a couple of seconds, you faltered and felt your whole universe freeze in place. Your heart thumped into nothingness, your thoughts went paralyzed, your nerves numbed as your whole body and mind went blank with shock. At the sensation of your phone almost slipping from your hold you blinked, catching it and swallowing thickly the newfound tight, dryness in your throat just as Jae started to get up, searching awkwardly for somewhere else to go and finding nowhere.

But people might start to stare, too. You had just sit. You had to before all hell broke loose and everyone knew.

You counted five short strides to his side of the couch. You forced your mouth to do some sort of curving motion meant to be a smile, casual and unassuming – haha, look, we’re pals and sitting together and it’s no big deal! – but you think the pure anxiety shone through your eyes, if he could see them in the darkness.

Jae, somehow, doesn’t say a word. He doesn’t even hesitate before scooting over a fraction of an inch, making sure you have plenty of space to flump down beside him comfortably.

All at once, you catch that fragrance again – mint and clean and male – and a shiver runs down your spine as you’re met with the leftover warmth where he had just been.

Neither of you speak while you adjust in your seat, and nobody notices the tension thick in the air. By the time you’re settled, Howl’s Moving Castle has started and the events of the past week are crowding your brain, close to busting at the seams and making you fully unravel in front of him and everyone else.

You’ve seen this film before; it’s one of your favourites, to be honest. Sophie is someone you sympathize with at times, and admire at others – she’s hard-headed and determined, qualities you wish you had in yourself more, but she also suffers from a sort of insecure cowardice you see in yourself too often. Ultimately, it might be the movie that causes your petrified gears to start turning, making your anxious energy convert into  _doing_ instead of  _waiting_ and playing dead to avoid the reality of responsibilities that scare you into stasis.

It takes several thick, fast heartbeats for you to tilt your head up at Jae. He catches the movement, and glances back at you, features shrouded and unreadable. He has every right to be angry, you know in your bones, but you hope so fucking much that he isn’t, that this doesn’t have to end in the worst way possible–

“Jae?” you whisper to his attention, so quietly a sound hardly leaves your lips.

Jae blinks. He’s just as handsome as he was a week ago, still leaves you totally breathless and weak at the knees. The heat his body radiates goes straight into yours, and there are hypersensitive tingles where your shoulders tentatively rest against each other.

“Hey.” He whispers back. The proximity is almost painful in its closeness, and you gulp, trying to find your voice and hope that he can’t feel you shaking from nerves.

“I’m really sorry about all this,” you manage to get out, and your traitor throat cracks as the tell-tale burning reaches your eyes. You muster up determination not to let any tears surface, because crying in front of him would make you want to walk in traffic, so you nurse your bottom lip to hold it all in. But you need to explain, need to keep talking and try to explain how horrible of a person you were; “I… I panicked. I didn’t mean to panic. I was just really scared, afterwards, of all this, and you… I-I mean, not you. Us. Whatever it is,” you warble, sotto voce.

Jae’s expression changes in subtle ways you can just barely make out. His eyes widen by a millimeter and his mouth goes soft, lips parted in silence like he has a million things to say but he doesn’t even know where to begin so he just shuts it and bites his own lip thoughtfully. But there’s something amidst it all – a burning inferno of relief and nothing less. You almost think he wants to kiss you.

To his credit, he doesn’t scream with joy, or cry from the relief, or jump headfirst into burying you into his chest in a hug of desperate need to just touch you and reaffirm that you’re real and there and okay. Instead, he offers a faint, tease of a smile that fills you with liquid, melting warmth and sinks into your nerves like medicine. For the first time in a week, the static in your head turns down to a distant simmer, finally fading away into the background where it might disappear for good.

You don’t know what makes you brave enough to do it. But out of the corner of your vision, you see the shadows play against his long, thin hands and want to touch them more badly than you’ve wanted to touch anything, so you gingerly reach out and lay your fingertips featherlight against his open, sheltered palm.

Jae curls his fingers around your instantaneously and squeezes. This time, he smiles for real, and your insides twist and shout and writhe at the sensation.

He’s smart enough to smoothly slide your linked hands under the blankets, tugging yours over his body and draping his over top so you’re both trapped in the same little tent together. Your actions are wholly invisible to the rest of the room, all fixated on their own friends or the movie as Howl takes Sophie for a charming mid-air stroll across the town, and it’s nothing short of sinful as Jae drifts his fingernails down the inside of your fingers, across your palm and curving up and around your wrist to trace your skin imperceptibly.

You’re positive he can feel you trembling already, like your body had been in withdrawals from his presence, let alone physical contact. Maybe this was why addictions were treacherous – and Jae was worse, much worse than them all.

The game turns far more dangerous as you both pretend to pay attention to the movie like everyone else.

It takes no time for Jae to let his hands wander further into daring territory out of desperation. Torn between sweeter, more tender intimacy and the palpable desire to bury himself inside of you again and feel whole again, he struggles back and forth from rubbing your arm and massaging the tense muscles of your shoulders and back and tantalizingly stroking the lines of your collarbone and juncture of your neck, sending rampant goosebumps up your flesh and making you shiver violently from the touch. Jae is hypnotized by the response, and has only enough self-control to remain fixated on the way your lips purse to hold in your staccato breaths and fluttering eyelashes, unsure of where to look or what to do with your own hands apart from clutch at the material of his jeans.

“Hey,” he rumbles, voice deep and thick, “scoot over a lil bit. Come here.”

His arm closer to you subtly raises, giving you room to fit under it and against his side properly where he can wrap it around your shoulders. Your core tightens in anticipation of his request, and you obey with smothered enthusiasm, still unable to quit shaking from the sheer amount of emotions coursing through your veins – want and need and lust and overwhelming relief at having him here again, with you, talking to you and filling that aching void he had carved out whether he knew it or not.

And the idea of what might be coming next had you scarcely able to keep functioning.

Now half in Jae’s lap, you were able to fold into him sinuously, a perfect fit. The arm slung around you was warm and heavy, and the fingers there played with the soft place under your ear, teasing your pulse; the other hand made its way to your thigh where it dragged against the fabric of your pajama pants with barely-concealed purpose. You might have called it hesitance from the way his fingers fidgeted with nervous energy, picking at the plush cloth and inching ever closer to the apex of your thighs.

And then, to your utmost quaking pleasure, Jae leaned in close and you felt his mouth brush against your ear.

“Are you okay with all this?”

You almost choked on your own breath – squirming, you nodded as inconspicuously as you could, trying to press a little closer to him for assurance as your own hand kneaded needingly against his pants. You felt rather than heard him chuckle, dry and tightly wound, and all at once his hands surrounded you in one fell swoop, mumbling, “Tell me if I need to slow down, alright, buttercup?”

 _Buttercup_ , your brain half-screams, half-chokes in response and it’s too sweet for you to handle but you manage it anyway and nod again, trying to make a grunt of agreement before he sighs in blissful relief and slips his digits under your elastic hem and past your wet underwear while the other begins groping with careful satisfaction at your clothed breast. You can hear him stutter on an inhale when he very quickly cottons on to the fact that you are certainly not wearing a bra, and his fingers are even quicker to take advantage of that fact and pinch firmly at your nipple under the fabric of your shirt.

“ _Fuck_ ,” he swears under his breath, and you literally feel yourself grow hot with the juices pooling at your lower lips. You wish, so badly, that someone would pull the fire alarm and get everyone out of this room so you could just sit on his lap and cum over and over again like last time, let him talk shit freely about how utterly devastating you look when he’s fucking you senseless, but you can’t and he can’t and nobody will, so you just have to be okay with this and somehow stay quiet while he fingers you through the movie.

At least the volume is cranked up and everyone’s attention spans, including yours, are entirely occupied.

“Jae,” you whimper softly and suddenly, capturing his attention as well – his hands freeze in place instantly, and you shake your head in protest, urging him to continue, “I’m s-sorry for last week. R-really. I’m really sorry–”

“Shut up and let me touch you properly,” he drawls back, the words coasting up your spine and making you tingle violently. “Hush. This can be your punishment, and we’ll call it even, okay?”

At the the last syllable of punish- _ment_ , his fingernail scrapes delicately over your clit and makes contact with the mess you’ve made between your legs. It’s a mixture of mortification and strange, backwards arousal at how embarrassing it is – how you’ve only been sitting together for fifteen or so minutes and you’re soaked through like you’ve been trying to get off for hours. And it’s not untrue, in a way, because you’ve been craving him for days now since he left your place to go home because, in his words, he unfortunately couldn’t wear clothes that smelled like sex to class.

“But in the meantime,” he hushes, and you can feel his lips curl against your earlobe as his teeth graze the flesh, tugging gently, “I’m going to finger you on this couch, n’make you cum for me on this couch, and make myself wish I could fuck you on this couch, but I’ll be patient. I missed you a lot, you know.”

And he buries his digits inside of you, middle first and ring finger following immediately for a sweet, sordid stretch that has you sucking in air in a hopefully unheard gasp.

“Sit tight,” he mutters in reminder, voice laced with roughness from his own constricting arousal, “this is just for me, alright?”

If his plan was to overwhelm you, it was working.

The one hand that kneaded your breast was persistent and kept you on your toes, switching back and forth between a soothing massage and taunting, sharp playing with your nipple. He wasn’t afraid to tug hard or twist, and he did it in perfect sync with his traitorous fingers that dug deep inside of you, pulsing in tiny scissor motions when he pressed in too far and curling in to smother the oversensitive spot that made you bite back tears and whines. Just to make things worse was his mouth – he couldn’t talk too much, but he could lick your neck and rest his teeth on the skin, grazing up and down and up and down in almost-marks. At the dip of your shoulder he wraps his lips around the flesh and sucks hard and slow, determined to actually bruise you for you to attempt to hide later.

And then his fingers speed up.

“Oh gosh,” you moan just weakly enough for it to go unnoticed, hiccuping as he drills harder, more earnestly. He takes care to add a fraction more stretch on each entry, his knuckles spreading you open lasciviously and you try to keep your thighs clamped shut around him to muffle the messy noises you’re positive he’s trying to torment you with.

Jae responds with another soft bite to the side of your throat, soothing over it with a crooked smirk and open-mouthed kisses.

You’re not sure it can get any more difficult than this until he maneuvers his thumb up, over your slippery folds and right onto your clit.

It earns the first uncontrollably jerk out of you, your muscles clenching around him and making you flinch hard on the couch. Sophie is on screen, sprinting to jump onto the moving castle and it has everyone’s rapt amazement, giving you enough leeway to go boneless with tremoring and half-lidded eyes and lips parted in silent panting.

“That’s cute.” Jae mutters affectionately, drawing back to study your face with perverse intentions – you can tell by the way his eyes flit back and forth over your features that he’s memorizing them again. He loves watching you, savouring all your little sounds and expressions down to the way your mouth waters and your pupils grow wide.

The thing is, though, that you can’t keep this facade up much longer. His thumbing becomes more insistent, flicking mercilessly over your clit and sending miniature shockwaves through your core like heat lightning.  _This is unfair_ , you keep chanting over and over in your head in some fruitless attempt to stave off the steadily-mounting pressure that builds in your womb, eating away at your coherence and sanity. It would be easy, so very easy to let yourself just unravel under his ministrations, fall to pieces for him and only him, but–

“ _I_  think you’re overthinking this.” The crooning is volumeless compared to the surround sound in the room, but it makes you tense and whimper mutedly nevertheless, more kisses trailing around your ear and jaw cloyingly. “This is allllll for me, remember? I’ve got you. Just… let go… let me do all the work.”

The coaxing syllables were a hymn, entrancing to your very heart. The small, nervous voice in your head evaporated under his convincing touch and suggestion, and it was the last push you needed for the wall to come crashing down – Jae smiled, wide and crooked as you curled up against him, hiding yourself from the oncoming orgasm that rapidly grew inside of you. 

“Keep it downnnnn…” he purrs, voice low and dripping with sex. “Even though I’m gonna fingerfuck you until you cum for me. But I need you to keep quiet while you do. Can you do that for me, sweet baby? I have faith. You can do this for me. You’re all hot and soaked anyway, just quit worryin’ and cum.”

Your fingers, in a last-ditch effort to stay anchored to something, cling to his shirt, knuckles pressing desperate into the lean muscle and smooth skin underneath that radiate warmth. Jae’s scent overwhelms you this close, trapped under the blanket you can even smell the vague musk of his arousal, sweat and pheromones and it makes your climax all the more brutal, coming over you like a crumbling mountain smashed by a tsunami. Pleasure, too much pleasure, submerges your system as the tension in you snaps in roiling waves, one after another on top of one another, and you’re grateful and disbelieving when you feel the fingers tugging to the point of stinging pleasure-pain at your nipple go to your mouth to cover it and muffle any telltale sounds that might give you both away. And Jae’s other fingers are right there, fucking into you slow and deep and measured – all that hidden strength in his arms and hands from playing is guitar is wholly evident then. He has perfect control. Every thrust is hard and determined and angled flawlessly to the point of making you feel like you were going to burst.

You don’t know how you don’t scream, or make a sound. Your throat closes up and Jae murmurs all sorts of lewd and tender things to you as you fall to pieces in his hold – and he holds you, so tightly, keeping you safe in his arms just as he promises. The pace of his fingers inside of you slow down in increments, until it’s just his palm ground up carefully against your clit, and he relishes the sensations of your cunt shuddering around him until it fades into tiny, faint pulses.

It’s an eternity before you come back to your senses; Jae has you sheltered from the rest of the room, his knees up and blankets and pillows in the way as he plants lazy, adoring kisses one by one against your hair. The hand over your mouth falls away to rub your arms affectionately, gingerly bringing you back down to earth and with him, and another strong shiver rolls down your spine when he withdraws from inside of you, taking his time not to overstimulate you further.

“Not bad, babydoll,” he crookedly smile, leaving another quick kiss on your temple. “Not bad at all. You did real good.”

It takes a herculean effort for you to raise your head. Your cheeks are burning, but you  _need_  to look at him, and all thoughts go right out the window when you stare into his eyes and realize his glasses are totally fogged up.

First a snort, then a stifled cry, then choked laughter – a few heads turn at that, since the movie was  _definitely_ not at anything considered to be a funny part, and you attempt to apologize but your vocal cords don’t sound it out right. Whatever. Doesn’t matter. Jae’s glasses are fogged and it’s so cute and hilarious you might as well die here.

 

This time, when the movie is over and Jae is done cleaning his lenses and discreetly licking off his digits while staring you pointedly in the eye and forcing you to watch – much to your muddled embarrassment and arousal and horror – he cuddles you ridiculously close and refuses to budge. You’re acutely aware of the erection straining in his pants, but he insists that it’ll be far too messy for you to return the favor just yet, and somehow ignores it to instead just sit with you, content and buzzing with adrenaline and a stupid, fluttering heart.

“Just so you know,” he says in passing, leaning his head against yours, “I like you, a lot. Like, I am  _fucked_. And I’ll take what I can get, but if we could do that whole thing where you’re my girlfriend and I worship you, I would be really… really hype, y’feel me?”

Your answer, thankfully, are the first happy tears you’ve cried all week long.


End file.
